


I Saw One Ship Come Sailing In

by mackenziebutterschnapps (hannibalsbattlebot)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsbattlebot/pseuds/mackenziebutterschnapps
Summary: For Petronia/genufa for the hannigramholidayexchangeChristmas Eve Fluff with the Murder Husbands! Join us for a Very Special Episode where our favorite cop and cannibal duo learn the true meaning of Christmas.  Also, Will finally divulges the answer to a question that has been bothering Hannibal for years.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Petronia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronia/gifts).



“Tomorrow is Christmas,” Hannibal said as he cleared the dinner dishes.

“Yup,” Will said, taking a quick sip of his too-hot after dinner coffee and scalding his tongue.

It was the day before Christmas, and Will hadn’t eaten one holiday cookie or heard one carol. He and Hannibal’s cabin was tucked away and so insulated from society that, for once, Will had the opportunity to opt out of the holiday. He did so happily. The irony was not lost on Will that he was up in the mountains, rejecting Christmas while the townspeople below made merry. But he was no Grinch. If anything, his heart was too big, and too easily bruised.

After dinner, instead of taking his own coffee in to drink with Will, Hannibal shrugged on his coat and went outside to stand on the porch. He put both hands in his pockets and gazed pensively at the tree line ahead. It reminded him of the forest around Muskrat farm. The Arachne of his imagination made a snip, taking out a bit of the unpleasantness that followed, and the scene of him carrying Will away from the blood and horror of the Verger estate blended seamlessly into this moment. Hannibal carried him away and Will promised they’d stay together. Merry Christmas.

As if his thoughts called Will, he came out on to the porch, too, still pulling his cap down over his hair. Hannibal was pale with cold, his nose and tips of his ears pink. He was wearing a nicely draped black scarf, Will noticed, but no hat and no gloves.

Will thought about asking him to come in from the cold, but then he thought better of it. Hannibal could stay like this all night, silently standing sentry and still be in the kitchen cooking pancakes at first light. Instead of trying to get him to come inside, Will stood near him, leaning on the porch railing and gazing at the same tree line. He did not think of Muskrat Farm. He thought about Christmas. The scene before them could have been the picture on the front of a Christmas card: a stretch of virgin snow with more falling, heavily loaded evergreens, oaks and maples stripped of their leaves standing as dramatic dark slashes, all suffused in the blue light of a winter sunset. He was happy to be here, in the woods, with Hannibal. He didn’t need anything else. He didn’t want anything else.

 “I don’t really like Christmas,” Will said. “I’m not missing anything by skipping it this year.”

“No?” Hannibal asked, curious. “Christmas was a very busy time for me. The stretch from Thanksgiving to New Year’s always loaded down my social calendar.”

“Sounds awful,” Will said.

“For you, I suppose it would be. I went in for that sort of thing,” he said.

The offhanded way he summed up his Baltimore social life was so flippant it made Will smile.

“Why do you hate Christmas?” Hannibal asked.

“I didn’t say I hated it,” Will huffed, although that was probably closer to his actual feelings. “It’s the forced enjoyment. Too many expectations.”

“Were you tricked under the mistletoe a bit too often?”

Will’s ears went pink, but it wasn’t from the cold.  It was true: too many tipsy party-goers had taken him on as a mistletoe challenge. It was embarrassing all around: for him, for the person he had to fend off as politely as he could and for the people watching the awkward interlude.

 “I had a fondness for the Christmas season,” Hannibal went on, “There is an opulent indulgence about Christmas that suits me. People are more likely to forgive extravagance if done in the name of Christmas—not that I ever asked for forgiveness.”

“And red is your favorite color,” Will added. Best not to talk too much about forgiveness.

“There is that,” Hannibal said. He moved around behind Will, lightly touching him on the elbow, but otherwise just standing close enough that Will was slightly distracted by his proximity.

Will had the nagging feeling that, although he was fine without Christmas, Hannibal wasn’t. After all, who was the social one? Who enjoyed living life as over-the-top as possible? The thought had come to Will too late, a surprising blind spot in his empathy. What did Hannibal just say--the opulent indulgence of the holiday suits him? The thought nagged at him.

“Do you miss it?” Will asked after a silence that seemed longer to him than it was. “Your life in Baltimore? All the parties and socialization. You were a real people person.” His joke fell flat, even to his own ears.

 “All the social activity which occupied my time,” Hannibal said, “I learned to live without in prison, satisfying myself in solitary pursuits.”

“You didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

Hannibal sighed and the puff of his breath ruffled the lick of hair sticking out from Will’s hat.

“I was in the process of giving it all up anyway,” Hannibal said. “Brick by brick. You observed it firsthand, the dismantling.”

“You thought I was going to come with you when you dismantled.”

“And you have.”

Hannibal couldn’t understand Will’s preoccupation with the time they spent apart. He himself often forgot about it. His time at BSHCI faded like a dream, like it happened to someone else. Hannibal didn’t like rehashing the mistakes he may have made in the past. What did that matter when the present was what it was? He had Will by his side, in his arms, in his bed. What was the point of thinking of that unhappy past?

Will turned and they shared a kiss, their lips meeting softly, almost chastely.

“Maybe Christmas…Isn’t all bad,” Will said.

Hannibal, skeptical about the sudden change, twitched an eyebrow.

 “I really like Christmas cookies,” Will said. “The…um…crumbly ones with the powdered sugar. Those are good and the…sandwich ones with the raspberry filling. Do you know those?”

“I might. The crumbly ones—are they highly spiced with ginger and cinnamon or do they taste of almonds?”

“Almonds.”

 “They may be Italian Wedding cookies.”

 “Wedding? That can’t be right.”

“Call them Russian Teacakes then,” Hannibal said, obviously pleased. “We have sugar, flour, butter and eggs. Vanilla. I don’t know if we have any almonds, but we have raspberry jam. I can make the other kind. Linzer cookies, I believe.”

Will turned back to look at the trees and the snow. The snow had stopped, and without the white noise of it falling, the approaching night was eerily quiet. Darkness was coming on fast and it was getting colder. Will leaned into Hannibal, feeling his comforting warmth.  

“Let’s not get to work quite yet," Will said.

Hannibal leaned his head down to speak into Will’s ear. Hannibal’s warm breath and the immediacy of his voice in Will’s ear made it more intimate, like pillow talk.

“Christianity picked through the pagan feasts and celebrations of winter and took what they wanted,” Hannibal said. “Why can’t we do the same? Tell me what else you want for your Christmas. Would you like a Christmas tree?”

Will turned his head a fraction to answer. “I like the trees where they are.”

“We could get an artificial tree.”

“As if you would stoop to such a thing.”

“I would if you wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

 “Eggnog?” Hannibal asked.

“Vile,” Will said, then with a resigned sigh, “But I bet yours is delicious.”

“Christmas carols?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t think the hymns would be appropriate and I’ve heard enough jingle bells for the rest of my life.”

“All I Want for Christmas is You?”

“Is that a statement, or…”

“It’s a statement of fact.”

“That makes my Christmas shopping so much easier,” Will said. “Plenty of me still in stock.”

Will took off his glove so he could intertwine his fingers with Hannibal’s.

 “Dinner parties?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

They were interrupted by a muted “paff” as a ribbon of snow slid off the eves and into the yard below.

 “What about gifts?” Will asked.

“You are my gift, remember?”

“But what do I get?”

“All of me, darling.”

“Yeah, but what else?” Will said. “I got that last year.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “You’re missing your traditional Christmas gift. That’s one tradition we must keep.”

Will was genuinely puzzled. “What?”

“A certain aftershave,” Hannibal said “with a ship on the bottle.”

 “You mean the aftershave you openly despised and mocked me for multiple times? That one?” Will’s indignant tone that was only half put-on.

“The very same.”

“Why…?” was all Will could manage. He could sense a slight, unexpected tension in Hannibal.  Will paused and let Hannibal have a chance to say what he needed to say.

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice skewing high and betraying his attempts to be casual. “I’m curious about who sends you this aftershave every year. It’s something a child would give,” he paused, furrowing his brow, “but what child was in your life this whole time? You don’t have nieces or nephews—“

“Not even going to ask how you know that..“

“—so it must be an adult. An adult family member would make the most sense. But who would care enough to send you a gift each year but not care enough to attend your trial or your wedding? That remains a total mystery to me.”

The pink in Hannibal’s cheeks had spread down his neck. Will wondered how he knew who was and wasn’t at his wedding.

“If you are so curious,” Will said, “why don’t you just ask?”

Hannibal took Will’s hand in both of his and looked into his eyes. “Will. Darling. Please tell me. Put my curiosity to rest. Who is giving you that damned aftershave every year?”

“Hannibal. Sweetness. I can’t answer that question.”

Hannibal dropped Will’s hands and squared up his shoulders. Will shouldn’t have enjoyed the baffled and slightly affronted look on Hannibal’s face as much as he did.

“I’m sorry?” Hannibal said.

“I can’t answer because there is no answer.”

Hannibal’s brow acquired an even deeper furrow.

“Well…” Will said. “It wasn’t the same person every year.”

Hannibal looked at him blankly and blinked.

“Think about it,” Will said “As you so delicately pointed out, my brand of aftershave has a distinct--some would say powerful--smell. Do you think you are the only one who has ever identified it on me? Over the years there have been people who wanted to or felt socially obligated to buy a gift for me. Other than the fact that I love dogs, what brand of aftershave I wore was the only personal detail they knew about me. So, that’s what they gave me. I rarely got it from the same person more than 2 years in a row. There were years I didn’t get any, but then there were years I got more than one, so it usually averaged out. Once I had three successive girlfriends who gave me a bottle on three successive Christmases. I got bottles from coworkers, neighbors, students, my partner on the force in Louisiana…” Will paused. “That one was awkward--”

“Will”

“I did absolutely nothing that could possibly even be construed as ‘leading him on’ although I did feel bad when he left his wife—“

“Will.”

“I certainly didn’t ask him to. And, I mean how solid could their relationship even have been if one little—“

“Will.” He said, more firmly this time. He cleared his throat. “At the risk of being unoriginal…” He trailed off and looked away, unsure how to proceed.

“You didn’t!”

Without a word, Hannibal left the porch and went inside. A few moments later he returned with a bag from the local drug store.

Will peeked inside and saw the familiar white bottle. With a ship on it.

“You didn’t wrap it?”

“I hadn’t quite made up my mind.” The frown on his face showed that he was still experiencing doubts.

Will had to take it out of the bag and hold it to convince himself it was real.

“But you hate this aftershave! Why would you give this to me?”

“I don’t hate it as much as you think,” Hannibal said.

“They why all the ‘going to introduce you to a better aftershave’ stuff.”

“You caught me smelling you. I had to say something.”

Will stifled a small laugh. Most people, himself included, would stammer an apology if they were called out on doing something that weird. Only Hannibal would deflect by lobbing an insult. Of course.

“That explains the first time,” Will said, barely able to suppress a smile, “but what about all the other times you basically said I stunk like a cheap whorehouse?”

“It was our thing,” Hannibal said. “Like a private joke.”

“No. It definitely was not.”

Hannibal reached out his arm and Will allowed himself to be gathered close.

“Scent is highly connected to memory,” Hannibal said. “And that scent has fond memories for me now. After our appointments, it would linger in my office and waiting room. Often I would be able to catch a trace of it even the next morning. You wore it in the catacombs and in the Uffizi. You wore it to visit me in prison. You couldn’t wear it while you were in prison, but you wore it to court.”

Will looked at Hannibal in surprise.

“Of course I noticed,” Hannibal said. “It called to me. It preceded you and lingered after you were gone. It meant you were close. I want you close.”

Will kissed him, less chaste this time, his heart aching in a wonderful way.

“Just…” Hannibal said, “promise me you’ll use it sparingly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Christmas carol "I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In" which is maybe not the best well known song, but since it was a Christmas song about ships, I couldn't resist.


End file.
